


Wheels turn, and I'm a long way from home

by janescott



Category: One Direction (Band), five seconds of summer
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, PWP, tour porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little slice of something. Harry/Michael porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wheels turn, and I'm a long way from home

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing herein belongs to me.
> 
> Beta'd by magenta, thanks babe :D

Michael blinks, feeling his eyelids move up and down, over his eyes in slow motion. He’s drowsy with the motion of the bus, with the feeling of constant movement as the tour winds from the UK and out into the world, and now Australia ...

“So - where are we?”

Michael starts to half shrug but it’s interrupted when Harry basically climbs all over him and shoves his face into Michael’s neck.

“Thought you were going back to your bus at the last stop,” he says, tilting his head back as Harry starts on his neck with his mouth and tongue, lingering on the spots that make Michael groan a little, low in the back of his throat.

“Nope. Still here. You didn’t answer my question.”

Harry slides a hand slowly down Michael’s chest, picking at the hem of his t-shirt before slipping it under, spreading his fingers over Michael’s stomach, scratching lightly.

Michael turns his head and looks out the window at the dark, random lights rushing by as the bus rolls on to their next stop. He arches his hips lazily when Harry’s hand slips over the waistband of his jeans, pressing into his dick, half hard just from the warmth of Harry’s nearness; of his mouth and hands.

“Dunno,” he says, still feeling drowsy and now kind of loose, and god, Harry’s so _warm_.

“You live here,” Harry points out as Michael turns his head towards Harry for the first time, focusing his eyes on Harry’s mouth.

“It’s a big country, Haz. We’re between fuck-all and nowhere right now.”

Harry just laughs at that, and Michael has to smile back at him because Harry’s whole face just lights up, and yeah, it’s fucking late, or fucking early, because Michael knows it’s not that funny.

Harry leans in again, pressing his hand against Michael’s dick again, whispering right into the shell of his ear, his breath warm. “Wanna make out?”

And it’s Michael’s turn to laugh at something that really isn’t that funny, except at fuck-all in the morning on a tour bus rumbling through Australia with _Harry Styles’_ hand on his dick and - 

Michael spreads his legs a bit and rolls his hips up again, pushing against Harry’s touch.

He wants - he wants Harry to pin him down somewhere, put those big hands of his on his hips and just - just fuck him till Michael runs out of words and maybe air a little bit -

“Okaaaaaaaaaaay Haz,” he says, drawing out the vowels because something about his accent makes Harry’s eyes go a bit greener and his mouth curve into a different kind of smile.

Harry moves his hand, sliding it from Michael’s dick to his hip, slipping it under his shirt again, and Michael would complain about that, because Harry’s hand on his dick is pretty much one of his favourite things, but now Harry’s kissing him, and that’s nearly as good because Harry is a great kisser, throwing his whole body behind it and soon they’re tangled up on the ratty bus couch, their legs twisted together and Michael has his hands in Harry’s hair.

“What d’you want, tell me what you want....”

Michael groans and pushes up against Harry’s hip, looking for friction, the low rumble of the bus on the road blending in to the low gravel of Harry’s voice in his ear.

“Mouth,” he says, without thinking. “Want your mouth, fuck, Harry ....”

Harry laughs against Michael’s neck before pulling back, dragging his shirt over his head. Michael sits up and blinks, licking his lips.

“C’mon, gotta show me the goods if you want me to suck you, babe ...”

Michael collapses back on the couch and laughs, helpless against Harry’s ... well, everything. He sits up again, because Harry’s peeling off his jeans and fuck ..

“Fuck, Harry ...” 

Michael had never thought much about other guys dicks before - not beyond what he’d watched on redtube anyway, having a quiet wank, but Harry’s dick is long and thick and it makes his mouth fucking _water_

“You want me to suck you, mate, you gotta lose your pants.”

Right. Harry’s mouth. Michael thumbs open the button on his jeans, pulls down the zip, which burrs loud in the quiet of the bus, the rumble of the tires on the road the only other sound.

He lifts up to push his jeans and pants down, kicking them off before grabbing the base of his cock because he’s closer than he wants to be, his eyes fixed on Harry’s chest, letting his gaze wander over the tattoos he can see in the low light of the bus.

Harry kneels on the couch and leans over Michael, grinning widely.

“Don’t worry. I don’t bite ‘less you say please.”

Michael wants to come back with something but his mouth is suddenly dry and it feels like there’s a huge lump in his throat and fuck when did this happen to him?

(Somewhere in the UK, Harry crowding him up against a hotel room door, lock clicking behind him, warm breath on his neck)

Now, Harry’s determined to tease, mouth and tongue and teeth all over Michael’s skin until Michael feels like he’s going to catch on fire if Harry doesn’t put his mouth where he needs it ...

Michael lets out a groan when Harry sucks the tip of his cock into his mouth, finally and fuck “Haz .... Harry ...”

Michael opens his eyes and tilts his head down, meeting Harry’s gaze, catlike in the dim yellow light. Harry pulls off and presses a light kiss to Michael’s hip, like he knows that Michael’s about to fly into a million pieces.

“I got you babe.”

Harry gropes under the cushions of the couch, frowning till he pulls out a small foil packet.

“Got it! Knew you didn’t find them all ...”

Michael snorts at that, remembering suddenly coming back to the bus after a pit stop to find Harry and Louis all over the bus, hiding condoms and little bottles of lube everywhere.

“In case of emergencies ...” MIchael mutters as Harry tears open the packet, sliding the condom down over his length. It lessens the sensations a little bit but Michael isn’t complaining at all because Harry’s got the filthiest mouth he thinks he’s ever going to see.

Then without warning, Harry swallows him down whole in one move and fuck if that’s not the hottest thing Michael’s ever seen. He has to shut his eyes against it, it’s kind of dazzling, but tangles a hand in Harry’s hair, needing to keep a connection as Harry works his cock over with his mouth and tongue and

“jesus, fuck, Harry ...”

Michael thinks maybe he should try and last a bit longer, not just. Shoot his load, but his body has other ideas, worked up to the point of losing complete control, and all he can do is swear and grind out Harry’s name as he comes so hard he gets a little dizzy.

“Fuck, Michael, fuck ...”

Michael’s sweaty and he’s going to feel kind of gross pretty soon, with the fibre of the cheap couch rubbing against his back, but right now all he’s aware of is the faint taste of rubber on Harry’s tongue as Harry kisses him, sloppy and filthy while he gets himself off by grinding against Michael’s thigh, finally stilling, completely oblivious to the mess he just made as he collapses on top of Michael in a tangle of limbs.

“Fucking filthy, Harry,” Michael grumbles, but it comes out low and warm, sounding nothing like a complaint at all.

Harry just butts his head up against Michael’s hand, shameless and grinning until Michael pushes his hand through Harry’s thick curls again, petting and playing, pulling at the strands and generally making a mess.

“C’mon Haz. Bathroom.” Michael nudges at Harry with his other hand till Harry mutters something unintelligible and pouts, but he moves anyway, stripping off the condom and pitching it somewhere on the floor before hauling Michael up with him.

They stumble together to the tiny bathroom, cleaning up as quietly as possible, running a trickle of water over a washcloth, hushing each other and giggling until Harry bites down on his shoulder and says, “When we get there, I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll be walking funny for a _week_.”

Michael laughs like the breath has been punched out of him until Harry kisses him again, and again, until the night blurs into morning, and they wake up in Michael’s bunk, too small for two people, but not caring as the bus rolls on.


End file.
